


Down By The River

by hit_the_books



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Horses, Kelpies, Mark of Cain, POV Original Female Character, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 03:10:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3920746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/post/118718022145/okay-imagine-dean-stumbles-into-your-barn-while">Anon asked</a>: Okay - imagine Dean stumbles into your barn while on a hunt and you're in the middle of tidying things up in there for some reason and he messes your stuff up and you decide to give him a piece of your mind. S'up to you where it goes.</p><p>Me: Is Dean still a righteous man? Or has he fallen too far?</p><p>This is set during season 9.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down By The River

**Author's Note:**

> (For anon and for the one person on /r/Supernatural who once said they wanted kelpies on the show.)

Working away in the barn for three days, sorting through my grandmother’s old bits of machinery and riding tack, I was pretty happy with how well I’d managed to get everything organized. As a breeze blew through the open doors, I poured myself a cup of sweet black coffee from the thermos I’d bought in with me and allowed its heavenly scent to take me away from this tiny corner of Missouri and to my day job working as a political blogger in DC. My long, black hair was up in a haphazard bun, and I was dressed in an old plaid shirt of my dad’s and some slightly torn jeans that had seen better days, but had dreamed a dream at many concerts. Sweat was pouring onto my face and into my hair.

Despite the circumstances, I was happy enough.

I was pleased with the work I had wrought.

And then it happened. I first heard what sounded like the pounding of hooves, which was strange, because my grandmother had sold all of her horses some five years ago when the cancer had made it too difficult for her to ride any more. And then I heard booted feet trying desperately to catch up. It was when a neat assortment of boxes, filled with riding tack, old oddments and ends collapsed as a huge four legged body streaked by - was that a horse? Than I decided to lose it.

“SHIT!” I bellowed, dropping my coffee and I grabbed an old pitchfork that had been leaning against a pillar.

And so I was angry and screaming when Dean Winchester ran into my life, chest heaving, eyes wide open in surprise as a pitchfork was levelled at his face.

“WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK?!” I screamed at him before he had a chance to explain himself.

Gulping down air, this stranger, all plaid and denim, looked me in the eyes, and asked calmly and patiently to be let by.

“NO! YOU JUST HELPED UNDO THREE DAYS OF HARD WORK! NO, YOU DO NOT GET TO GO BY!”

“Please,” he’d asked again, calmly.

I looked him in the eyes and saw a level of desperation that I’d never seen before.

“I’ll come back and help you sort this mess out. I promise,” he grovelled.

He sounded so sorry that I slowly lowered my pitchfork. “Fine,” I said.

“Thank you.” And he ran past me with a speed that seemed almost unnatural for the amount he’d probably already run.

I listened to his boots head out across the yard and what sounded like the distant creak of a wooden gate being vaulted and then there was silence. I put the pitchfork down and walked over to the mess that had been made.

“Come on…” I moaned to myself more than anything else before seizing the nearest box and began to rearrange what should go into it.

The auction was in two days and I needed to finish packing up these lots else we’d lose out on making back some of the cash we needed to pay off outstanding medical bills for my grandmother. We were selling some of the land attached to the stables and farm, but not the whole thing. The odds and ends I were sifting through were for things none of the family needed, but could still help to make some cash to pay off the debt.

An hour became two and I turned on the old lights my late grandfather wired in when my dad was still a boy living there with them. I noted that the man hadn’t returned, and sighed, as I continued to shift through the mountain of things that no longer had a use for the family.

I heard the rumbling of a car engine as something stopped in the yard. I continued to sort.

“Hey,” called a man’s voice from behind me and I turned to see the running man from earlier returned, as he’d promised.

“Hey,” I answered, putting down the mouth bit I’d been trying to tease out from between som hoe heads. I turned to face the man and gave him a weak smile. “You’re back,” I said plainly.

“I promised, didn’t I?” He held out his right hand, “Name’s Dean, Dean WInchester.”

I shook his hand. “Alannah, Alannah Turing… What the hell was that thing earlier?” I asked, though I already knew. His hand was bigger than my own and rougher.

“Would you believe me if I said it was a horse?” Dean replied, letting go.

“No, I wouldn’t. There’s no horses around here for fifty miles, hasn’t been since my grandmother sold all of hers five years ago.”

“Fair enough… Um,” his face looked pained as he replied, “Do you know what kelpies are?”

“Horse spirit thing that tricks riders and drowns them in rivers or the sea. Sure, I know about them, my grandmother’s side was from Ireland, hence the horses,” I explained without missing a beat. “You telling me you chased one those things through this barn?”

“Maybe I am.” Dean looked at me his eyes showing he was surprised at my calm.

“You get it?”

“Maybe…”

He hadn’t. I decided to change the subject. “Look, are we going to stand here chatting all night about a fairytale, or are you going to help me sort through this mess?” I asked before going back to the mouth bit I’d been trying to extract and kneeling beside it.

Dean knelt down beside me. “How’d you want it sorted?”

“Horsey things should be boxed away from farming things,” was my simple reply. “If you don’t know what something qualifies as, ask me.”

“Okay,” Dean answered, his voice a little husky.

Slowly, we worked through the mess. With two pairs of hands sorting through it all, it was far easier and it helped that I’d already identified most of it already. Within four near silent hours, in between coffee breaks, some time past midnight we’d finally reorganized and repacked the mountain.

I groaned as I got to my feet and wobbled slightly, tired and hungry.

“Woah,” Dean said, catching me in his arms before I fell into the new pile.

“Sorry, it’s been a long day.” I looked into Dean’s hazel-green eyes and my heart slightly skipped a beat.

“I bet. Let me walk you back to the house?” Dean said, concern filling his voice. I hardly knew the man, but I was warming to him. Any man who could deal with four hours of sorting through that pile of crap couldn’t be all bad.

“Su-re,” I yawned, “But we need to close the barn up first.”

“Of course,” Dean answered, heading for the back set of doors and closing them, before leading me out the main, large ones and pulling them closed behind us.

“This way,” I motioned and Dean held his arm out so that I could lean on him. We gently walked under moonlight to the porch of what had been my grandmother’s home since she’d been born. An old brick built and wooden paneled place, built more in the old style of her parents homeland.

I opened the front screen and door and flicked on a light to illuminate the sparsely furnished abode. Looking at the range, I realised it could do with a few more logs and wobbled over to it. Seeing what I was trying to do, Dean gently tapped my shoulder.

“Let me,” he said, as he bent down and opened the front of the old, wood burning cooker, and flung some logs in before picking up a poker and making sure the flames started eating at the timber. As I watched him I looked at the scars he had dotted about his arms and how tense his shoulders were.

With the range’s door closed, I went and sat at the old kitchen table, now unable to keep standing. It had been a very long day.

I must have dozed off for a while, because I came round to the smell of frying eggs and bacon, and the scent of coffee. Dean was cooking up a modest sorta-post midnight feast.

“Hey,” he said as he peered over his shoulder at me. “You’re awake. Hope you don’t mind?”

“No, no, please, go ahead… I’m sorry for shouting at you earlier and waving a pitchfork at your face.”

Dean gave me a toothy smile. “If our places had been switched, I’m pretty sure I’d have reacted the same… If you don’t mind me saying: you took that kelpie story pretty well.”

I brushed some strands away from my face and picked up the coffee pot on the table and poured myself a cup and added some sugar. Holding the cup between my hands, I allowed myself a moment, before answering. I looked out the kitchen window into the moonlit landscape beyond.

“Grandmother once told me that a kelpie had followed her father’s horses all the way from Ireland. That the beast was so committed to our animals that it followed them across the ocean. She said every so many years, her father’s, and then her horses, would produce foals with the shiniest of manes…

“And those foals never looked like the stock of the stallions they had here. And they’d grow to be prize winning race horses. But their lives were short, because after a few races they’d shake their riders off and have to be shot before they trampled the rider or the crowd.

“So you saying that you were chasing a kelpie across this old ranch? Perfect sense.”

I looked up at Dean, his back was now turned to me as he started piling eggs and bacon on two plates he’d found. He brought the plates over to the table and placed knives and forks beside them, before sitting opposite me and pulling his food towards him.

“Wow,” Dean said as he picked up his knife and fork and began to delve into his plate of food.

“You, uh, go chasing kelpies around often?” I asked as I began to tuck into my own food.

“Nah, this was my first one.”

“But you do stuff like this often?” I asked, watching Dean’s face from across the table.

“You could say that.”

“Hmmm,” I nodded sagely and ate my first mouthful of food. Everything was cooked just right and bacon was nicely crisp. I didn’t push any further, at least then.

“So, uh, you raise horses?” Dean asked.

I swallowed my food. “No, I’m a political blogger based in DC. I’m here because I was the only one with some time to spare to sort things out.”

Dean raised a concerned eyebrow. “Sort things out?”

“Grandmother passed three weeks ago, and we’re auctioning off some of the land here and a few of the old farm and riding pieces to raise money to pay off her medical debts.”

“Chri- I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ve had five years to prepare for it.” And then I added before he could ask, “It was bone cancer.”

“Sorry,” said Dean.

“Hey, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about. You helped me clean up things and you’ve now cooked this glorious pile of bacon and eggs: you have nothing to be sorry for,” I said brightly, my tiredness slipping away with the food and coffee. But I knew there was still more to do.

I took another mouthful of eggs and then sipped some coffee. Glancing up at Dean, I noticed he was rubbing a spot on his right arm, under his shirt sleeve.

I cleared my throat and asked, “Are you okay, Dean?”

He flinched and stopped rubbing his arm, picking up his knife and fork once more. “It’s nothing.” I raised an eyebrow, but didn’t want to push this near stranger further on the matter.

Once our plates were clear, I got up to do the dishes, as Dean got up to help me, I gently pushed him back down in his seat and poured him another cup of coffee.

“You cooked,” I said, heading for the sink.

Once the dishes were done and the coffee pot was just grounds, I headed for the kitchen cupboard where my grandfather had always kept a bottle spare, and pulled out a bottle of Bushmills single Irish malt and two tumblers. There wasn’t much furniture left in the house, so we moved our chairs out onto the porch, brought some old crocheted blankets as well and I set an old camping lamp beside us as he poured and then we drank.

We sheltered under the bright, warm blankets as we looked up into the night’s sky, filled with stars. Our seats were close together. We were both tired, but it was more than the kind of tired that comes with shifting physical burdens.

Our burdens were worn in the way our shoulders curved and our backs arched or lounged against our wooden chairs. The silent consideration of the single malt in our hands gave us time to consider who would speak first: because the night air was filled with a tension that had to burst.

“I wasn’t the only one who could have come here to do this,” I volunteered.

Dean turned to me and I turned to him. “Oh?”

“Last week... I had to extract myself from a senator's hotel room,” I said matter of factly, laying it all out. “He’d tried to push our relationship beyond professional bounds, coke and booze in tow, and now I’m looking at moving out to Europe to do political blogging about the movers and shakers there.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep,” I finished my whiskey and poured myself more.

Silence filled the space between us. In the distance, I thought I could hear the sound of the river that ran below the paddock where the mares had often been kept.

I was done with waiting.

“So, were you planning on waiting when I was asleep to take a lock of my hair?”

“Excuse me?!” Dean replied, attempting to sound shocked and failing utterly at the same time.

I put my whiskey down and stood up, letting the blanket fall to my seat. I then pinned Dean in his seat, my legs either side of him, my hands gripping his shoulders tight with my hands.

“Psalms 106:3 - Blessed [are] they that keep judgment, [and] he that doeth righteousness at all times… Dean, do you consider yourself a righteous man?”

“I’m not sure I - “

“Oh please, Dean, cut the crap. I know you’re here because of the ‘near’ drownings that happened downstream, starting from three weeks ago. I know you haven’t dealt with the kelpie. You need me to help to do that,” I spieled off, looking deeply into his eyes.

Dean finished his glass of whiskey and swallowed it down hard, before asking, “Why haven’t you dealt with it then, if you know this?”

“Because I’m not righteous, Dean! The family is tainted while it is still bonded with that beast. Geez,” I let go of his shoulders and stood back to look at him, “I thought you hunters did your homework!”

This time Dean was genuinely shocked. “You know I’m a hunter?”

I picked up the bottle of single Irish malt and started marching down the porch steps, guided by the moonlight. “Come on!” I called over my shoulder at Dean, “We need to do this before dawn!”

I heard a rush of feet behind me as Dean pounded down the porch steps, lantern in hand. “Hold up!” He yelled, catching up to me. “How do you know I’m a hunter?”

I sighed as I marched us towards the river at the bottom of the mare’s paddock. “Because, once when I was ten, and something set a kelpie off, one of you came to set the beast to rights, but I grandmother wouldn’t have any of it and said it wasn’t ours. And it wasn’t, it was another.

“That was a strange summer’s day, watching grandfather punch this other man in the side of his grizzled jaw.”

“Do you remember the hunter’s name?” Dean asked, easily keeping up with me now.

“Sorry, I was only ten. But I know why the thing is acting up now, it’s because she’s gone and no one has reaffirmed the tie.”

I pulled myself over a wooden fence and continued marching, making easy work of the knee high grass. The river was glistening under the moonlight at the opposite end of the paddock.

The single malt swooshed in its bottle as I came to a stop beside the river. I put the bottle down, took my shoes off and began to undress, grateful I wasn’t wearing any jewellery, ignoring Dean. I’d skinny dipped in this stretch of water so many times over the years, that none of this felt uncomfortable bar the water itself. The water was going to be cold. Completely naked, I looked over my shoulder at Dean - his jaw was hanging open.

“Come on, then,” I said. “I know you’ve got a knife on you somewhere.”

Dean walked up beside me, bent down and pulled a knife out from under the right leg of his jeans. I pulled my hair down and left it trail over my back and then bent over to pick up the bottle of whiskey, not caring what kind of view Dean got. I needed for this to be over.

I turned to Dean. “Okay, you follow me into the water, and cut off a handwidth worth of my hair and let it fall into the river in front of me and I’ll do the rest.”

Dean audibly gulped. “Do I need to be naked?”

I rolled my eyes at him. “No, I’m the one who needs to be purified on behalf of my family.” Dean quickly removed his boots and socks and put them to one side.

I started marching down into the water and waded out to the centre of that patch of river, the water up to my belly button. I ignored the goosebumps forming on my skin and my teeths’ attempts to chatter.

“Ready?” I called to Dean.

“Yeah,” he replied, a measure of calmness back in his voice.

“Cut my hair.”

I felt a tug as Dean grasped the necessary amount of hair and began cleaving it away with his knife. Then, once the section of hair was free from the rest of my head, he held it in front of me and let it go.

As if drifted lazily into the water, I spoke in Irish gaelic, “Saor,” which is ‘free’ in English.

The water in front of me began to foam and bubble as the strands of my hair were sucked away by it. I unscrewed the bottle of whiskey and poured its contents into the water.

“Baile,” (‘home’) I spoke out loud and the foaming and bubbling stopped.

Then out of nowhere, a wave rushed over Dean and me from behind, knocking us off of our feet. But I was a strong swimmer and quickly broke to the surface once more, as did Dean beside me. We crawled our way out of the river, empty bottle and all, and I quickly started putting my clothes back on.

“It’s done,” I said, as I finished dressing myself, the material cooling against my skin. “Let’s get back to the house and dry off and warm up.”

It was a cold walk back up to the house and I was glad that the range was still fueled up. I stripped off again and put my clothes aside to dry while walking past Dean completely naked. He’d already found some spare clothes in his car, but was distracted by me and so hadn’t changed yet.

“Change now or you’ll catch a chill,” I bossed, as I began to pull some fresh underwear, jeans and a shirt from my travel bag.

“Right,” Dean said, distractedly. A few moments later, I looked towards him to see if he’d changed and saw a mark on the inside of his right arm as he started to pull the sleeve of a fresh shirt down his arm.

“What’s that?” I asked.

I watched as his body tensed and his jaw grew hard. “It’s nothing,” he answered and finished pulling his shirt sleeve down over the mark on his arm.

I shrugged and walked over to the range and sat down on one of the seats we’d dragged back inside. I basked in its warmth and stretched. Dean pulled a seat beside me and sat down.

He was rubbing the mark on his arm through his shirt. I could see him out of the corner of my eye.

“Dean?” I said, looking at him directly. He shifted his head to gaze back.

“What?”

“You should know, whatever burdens it is that you carry, you’re still a righteous man. What you did for me, for my family, for anyone going near that river, proves that. So stop letting it all, whatever it is, weigh down on your soul.”

“Alannah, I -”

Before Dean could finish what he was saying, I leaned in and kissed him on his lips. At first he was slow to respond, but then he teased my mouth open and flicked his tongue along my own. His arms stretched out and pulled me towards him, not satisfied until I was sat, straddled, across his lap, facing him.

I felt a heat awaken in me and I began to grind down into Dean’s lap and he shifted his hips up towards mine. Dean’s left hand snaked up under my shirt, and over my bra, his fingers swiftly setting to work to tease my right nipple.

“Mmmmmnnhh,” I groaned into Dean’s mouth.

I was equally aware of how wet I had become and how hard Dean was underneath me. Not wanting to stop kissing Dean, but desperate for more, I pulled away from his lips and climbed off of him, taking his left hand away from my breast and led him to the bed mat I’d put down in what was once a living room. I pulled my clothes off and he followed, then I laid down on the mat, my head on a pillow.

Dean, his cock hard and its tip glistening with pre-come, kneeled before me and my spread my legs. Taking his right index finger, he trailed it down my dripping slit, before pushing it inside me. He quickly fingered me, making it impossible to not grind down on his hand, hips bucking, as he pushed another finger inside me and chased my G-spot.

“NNnnnnnnnnnggggghhh!” I cried as my walls clenched and unclenched around Dean’s fingers in orgasm.

I moaned as Dean pulled his fingers out of me and wiped my wetness on his cock.

“Do you want me?” He asked, his voice husky.

I nodded, and he went down on all fours and pushed himself slowly inside me, filling me up. His lips returned to mine now, and as we began to kiss, he started to slowly thrust in and out of me. The slicked friction irresistible, as our tongues battled and Dean’s hips moved faster and faster.

As he pounded into me again and again, I could feel my release coming once more. And suddenly, as Dean changed to short, sharp thrusts, I lost myself in him.

“Mmmmmmmnnnngggaaaah!” I cried into his mouth, my orgasm wrecking through me as the impossibly good sense of friction unwound itself through my body and left me shuddering in pleasure underneath Dean.

“Mmm, good baby,” Dean groaned, pulling away from our kiss for a moment, before joining his mouth with mine once more.

Picking up speed, Dean seemed eager to come now, his thrusts hard and needy. I could feel him tensing above me and then -

“MMmmmgggggnnnnnhhh!” He moaned into my mouth as he pumped his seed inside, thrusting slower and slower as he spilled into me. His breaths deep and fast, he kissed me all over my face as he pulled out and dropped down on the mat beside me.

In the warmed air from the range, we laid there for some time comfortably naked, but as we began to cool, I pulled an open sleeping bag over the two of us and curled myself against Dean’s left side, nuzzling my face into his chest. He kissed my hair.

“Alannah… Thank you,” Dean said, curling his left arm around me and stroking my hair.

“At least leave me your number,” I replied, knowing full well what morning would bring.

“Sure,” Dean replied and I could feel him smiling into my hair as we both drifted off into a deep sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to request a fic, then please send me a prompt over at [Dreams from the Bunker](http://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/ask).


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